Biting Back
by Calypso C
Summary: Percy could sense that to make Luke's sword, backbiter, there was a tragedy involved. He was right.


_Hello again! This is a one-shot that I thought of. Haven't you, at one point or another, wondered how Luke made his strange sword? I had, and then this came to me!_

_Percy said he sensed a tragedy surrounded the making of the sword. _

_So this happened. _

_Enjoy!_

-Calypso C.

_(Also, don't be afraid to write a review, even if it's just a quick little tidbit!)_

* * *

_If you prick us do we not bleed?_

_If you tickle us do we not laugh?_

_If you poison us do we not die?_

_And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?_

-William Shakespeare

* * *

Lucy Williams was a normal girl. How could she not be, with a name like Lucy Williams? Sure, she had a few talents. Piano. Straight A's. A double jointed thumb.

But she was never involved in anything crazy, anything extraordinary.

Not until the summer after her senior year.

There was a little deli in downtown Manhattan that she loved. It was right by Central Park and it had two tables in the front where she could sit and watch people walk past. She'd sip coke and do her homework there, or fill out college applications, or just sit and read.

Sometimes, though, she just liked to watch people as they walked by. Strangers to her—but fascinating because of that. Lucy would watch the way they walked, the way they talked. What they were wearing and what they looked like.

How every single one of them was a different person, with different lives, different thoughts, different feelings. How they all lived their own lives and weren't aware of hers, just as she didn't know theirs. Sometimes it was truly mind blowing to think about.

These people mattered to somebody. Mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, friends, co-workers.

Occasionally one person would catch her interest and she'd jot down a few notes, quickly creating a character in her mind. Maybe she'd use them in one of her stories, maybe she wouldn't. If was fun just the same to make them up.

It was a fairly hot June day when Lucy was at her usual table, sipping a coke, and watching the crowd go by.

A girl in her twenties wearing a beanie walked by while texting, somehow managing not to fall. A crowd of business men and woman strutted past, all wearing blue tooth's and carrying smart phones, looking important.

Lucy pushed back brown hair from her eyes as a young man walked past. Probably eighteen or nineteen, with blonde hair and a smiling face. He could have been a male model except for the jagged scar that ran down the right side of his face.

His entire personas intrigued Lucy from the moment she laid eyes on him. The way he walked, with such self confidence. The almost cat-like grin on his face. The way he looked at the world, as if appraising it.

Bending her head over her notebook she wrote:_ Blonde Hair, 18/19, scar on right side of face, looks at world like he's appraising it._

"I'm pretty sure that's called stalking," a smooth voice said from behind her.

Lucy jumped in her seat. The guy she'd just been watching was now standing right behind her, looking over her shoulder at what she had written. She hugged the notebook to her chest.

"That's quite a collection you have there," the boy said. "By the looks of it."

Lucy laughed nervously. "I'm sorry—I just—I mean I wasn't really trying to stalk you—"

The boy gave a hearty laugh and his face looked five years younger when he did. "Mind if I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the chair across from her, a smile still on his lips.

"Uh, sure," Lucy said. She hesitated. "I'm a writer, and I sometimes get character ideas from people on the street," she confessed. "Whenever I see someone interesting I write it down." Lucy felt her cheeks heat up.

The boy nodded as if understood exactly what she was talking about. There was a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he said, "Well, I can assure you I'm _very_ interesting."

He held out his hand across the table. "I'm Luke."

Lucy shook his hand and slowly said, "Lucy Williams." She gave a cough. "Do you live in New York?"

"Sort of," Luke answered vaguely. "You?"

She nodded. "This is one of my favorite spots."

He turned his head and looked out towards Central Park. He smiled. "I can see why." He turned back towards her. "So tell me—writing anything interesting?"

Lucy blushed. "I've been working on this one story for just about forever. It's called _Biting Back_. It's about these kids who have always been mistreated and abused, but they decided to take revenge." When Luke didn't say anything, Lucy hurried to add, "I mean, it's not that a great of an idea, I mean, I'm still playing around with it—"

"Sounds dark," Luke commented. "But I like it. Especially the title."

Then he mentioned something about school and Lucy responded. Soon enough, she realized, they had been talking for more than an hour. Rush hour was over and the sun had started to sink in the sky.

Lucy picked up her bag and scooted her chair in. "I've got to go," she said apologetically. "My mom is probably freaking out right now."

Luke gave an understanding grin. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to get you in trouble."

Lucy shrugged and gave a shy smile. "No big deal. I had fun."

"Me too." Luke took her hand and laced his fingers through hers. "Walk with me?"

Lucy hesitated. At the look on her face Luke let her hand drop.

"I'm sorry." He shook his head. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, it's just I really do have to get going." Lucy gave a regretful smile. They walked out onto the sidewalk together. At the end of the block Lucy pointed to an entrance to the subway. "That's my ride."

Luke waved as she went down the stairs. This time he looked hesitant, before calling out, "Are you going to be at the deli tomorrow?"

Lucy laughed. "Come and find out!"

He laughed back. "Maybe I will."

* * *

Lucy went back the next day at the same time, and was surprised to see Luke there waiting for her. They talked again and this time, when he took her hand as they were about to leave, she let him.

He walked her to the subway station and they made plans to meet again tomorrow, except this time in Central Park.

The days passed by fast and before Lucy knew it a week had gone by. They gotten together every day, once he'd even met her mother and father, but Lucy wasn't sure if they were dates. After all, they felt like dates. But Luke never said anything about that.

It was a week and half after they met that Luke asked to walk her home. She looked at him like he was crazy.

"I live twenty blocks from here," Lucy said, "And you want to walk me there?"

He nodded with the now familiar grin on his face. "I do."

Lucy shook her head in amazement, but agreed. "You're just lucky I wore sneakers today."

Luke smiled but said nothing. They chatted for the first couple of blocks, but after that Luke became strangely quiet. Lucy looked at him worriedly. What could be wrong?

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked. "You look a bit…pale?"

Luke shook it off and managed a grin. "Oh—sorry. I'm fine, really."

Lucy shrugged and started talking again. But after another few blocks Luke still hadn't said much, and Lucy broached the topic again.

"I'm fine," he snapped. His voice softened after he saw the hurt in her eyes. "Sorry. I'm just…tired."

Lucy nodded but a strange, uncomfortable feeling was creeping up her spine. She couldn't help but notice that the street they were on was practically deserted, and for some reason that made her stomach churn.

As they were walking past a dark looking alley Lucy turned to Luke. "Luke, something's wrong. Please tell me," she pleaded. "Maybe I can help."

He didn't meet her gaze and instead squeezed her hand. "You're right. Something is wrong." He pointed towards the alley, his voice strangely depressed sounding. "What I'm about to do."

"What—?" She barely registered his words before something jumped out of the shadows. Lucy shrieked and felt her blood go cold.

Standing in front of her was a dog—except it wasn't. It was much, much bigger, with black fur, and giant teeth and fire in its eyes.

She turned wildly towards Luke. "What is that—I don't understand—_Luke_!"

His face looked pained as the nightmare _thing_ jumped at her. It put its paws on her shoulder and pinned her to the pavement.

"Help! Help! A giant dog—Luke!" Lucy yelled desperately. The dog growled menacingly, foam dripping off its fangs onto her face. Lucy trembled, feeling the rough sidewalk beneath her clothes. "I don't—I don't understand," she said, trying to contain the tears that were threatening to flow.

Luke closed his eyes and stared up at the sky far, far above. "It's better that you don't."

* * *

They were in the woods somewhere, the trees filled with darkness and growls. The canopy was so thick that Lucy couldn't see the sky above, and no sunlight penetrated through. Her throat was dry and cracked from all of her screaming and sobbing, but none of it had helped her face the situation.

She'd gotten kidnapped by Luke. A person she thought...had liked her.

After the giant dog had attacked her, Luke had dragged her into a car, blindfolded. She didn't know how long they had driven, but it couldn't have been more than an hour. They were probably still in New York.

On the way Luke had apologized. Talking about some cause, some lord. Saying it was the only way to make everything better. After all, wasn't there so much wrong with the world?

Lucy had replied scathingly, "Like a boy pretending he likes a girl, then kidnapping her?"

Luke didn't say anything for a while. Then he told her he did like her, he wasn't pretending.

Lucy had spat in his general direction.

Now she was sitting on the ground, in the middle of a dark forest, on her knees, looking at the boy with the scar. She couldn't believe she'd let this happen. She'd always been so careful—so sensible.

Luke was sitting on the ground across from her, obviously waiting for something. He was hugging his knees and despite how much she hated him right then, Lucy felt her heart give a pang.

He looked so sad. So lonely. Then she came back to her senses. This was the boy that had tricked her. That had kidnapped her and attacked her with a giant dog.

The forest got darker and darker. Once she could barely see anymore Luke started a fire. Despite being near the heat Lucy shivered.

"It won't be long now," Luke said, his voice lower than normal.

Lucy didn't respond.

Then a gust of wind rushed through the trees, dropping the temperature where they were by at least ten degrees.

"It's time," Luke told her.

He pulled a long silver knife from his bag, the blade reflecting the firelight. Sparks sprayed from the fire but Luke ignored them. Once he was standing in front of Lucy he reached for her wrists. Lucy jerked away.

"Don't you come _near_ me!"

He looked at her sadly. "I'm sorry. I really am. But it's the only way." Then he forcefully grabbed her wrists and slit each one open with the knife. Lucy cried out.

Luke dipped his finger in the blood that was now spilling out of her wrists. Lucy watched in horrifying fascination as he started to draw some kind of symbol on his arms. Then he smeared blood onto her forehead, making some kind of mark.

Lucy shuddered.

Then, with his blonde hair standing out in the darkness, Luke retrieved some type of container. He pulled out two half's of a sword that didn't match and set the container down first. Before he did anything else, he hesitated.

Lucy closed her eyes, willing it end. She didn't know how everything had gone so wrong.

Luke gently set a hand on her shoulder and Lucy didn't bother to push it away. It didn't matter anymore.

"Lucy, please try to understand. I do like you. But that's exactly why I have to use you. It's the whole point," Luke tried to explain. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to."

"Then don't," she whispered softly.

He shook his head and in the firelight his scar seemed more pronounced than ever. It gave his face a cruel edge. "The binding spell will only work with the blood of a mortal _and _a demigod. Some of the blood has to be taken forcefully, otherwise it won't work. But magic is picky. The mortal I take the blood from also has to be a friend."

Lucy closed her eyes again. Nothing made sense anymore. Luke had gone crazy, talking about gods and—and mortals, as if he weren't one. About magic and what sounded like a ritual sacrifice.

"Or more than a friend," he whispered in her ear. "I really do like you. I'm sorry this happened."

"No you're not." Lucy's voice shook. "If you truly were you wouldn't do this—whatever it is."

"You're wrong." He took the blade and made another cut on each wrist. This time Lucy didn't even scream.

Luke pulled her arm over the two blades which were now in the basin and squeezed her arms so blood dripped out. Her yells echoed back to her as she tried to twist away.

The blood, for some unexplainable reason, fell in a perfect line on each half of the sword. Half was bronze looking, the other steel.

As Luke let go of her she slumped to the ground. He quickly made two red lines of his own arms and repeated the process. Her eyelids would barely open as she heard him start chanting in a foreign language. It sounded ancient, but the words themselves sounded evil and cold.

The whole clearing lit up as the blades began to glow. Lucy felt a searing pain in her body; it ripped through her skin as if she were on fire. It made her head pound and she felt as if she might explode.

She squirmed on the ground, grabbing at herself. Why wouldn't it stop? Why wouldn't it stop?

_Why wouldn't it stop!_

Lucy could hear herself screaming, begging, pleading. She didn't know what she was saying. The pain was too much. It came over in waves, burning a path through her skin.

Then everything became quiet.

Luke looked down at the lifeless body of the girl on the ground. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer for her—although he doubted it would do much good.

Then he stooped down and picked up the two half's that were now one.

Lucy's dead eyes seem to stare up at him accusingly, her face still frozen in pain. His heart almost physically hurt at the sight.

But it was worth it. It had to be worth it.

Luke examined his new blade. An almost disturbing smile crept over his lips. He knew just what he'd call it.

Backbiter.


End file.
